Closer
by Roony
Summary: Dean needs help getting over Cassie. recommomend reading this fic twice


Closer

author: roony

rating: T

summary: Dean needs help getting over Cassie.

a/n: this is a one shot. tip: after you've read this, read it over again.

_Help me_

_I broke apart my insides_

_Help me_

_I've got no soul to sell_

_Help me_

_The only thing that works for me_

_Help me get away from myself_

-'Closer'-NIN

---

"Get out."

"You're out of your mind!"

"We're over."

Despite the blasting Zeppelin, the words echoed on forever for Dean, hitting him harder than any bass line. He closed his eyes a moment to push the voices-well, really just _voice_ away. Unfortunately, that left more room for her face to fill his mind's eye.

Dean took a deep breath. Cassie.

Dean Winchester had found himself in an odd place since that whole…thing with Cassie. Half of him was pissed at himself for ever being so stupid, the other half was pissed off at him for thinking he'd been stupid.

It probably would've been easier to put the whole thing behind him if he could just stop thinking about her. But, that hadn't happened in a good long while. Too long. He wasn't staying focused on his hunts. At first he'd tried to ignore it, but he had no choice but to face it after that whole incident with the cerberus.

Three headed dogs weren't exactly Dean's favorite Freak of the Week pick, but a whole pack of them sounded like a whole barrel of laughs. So much so that Dad had asked for Dean's help on it. Simple plan of attack: track the pack to their den, kill them, burn them. Simple.

But Dean had been off. His thoughts went off on tangents-all leading eventually to Cassie-when he was supposed to be tracking. Dad would snap him back to attention, but let it go when Dean blinked back to reality. Then they got to the den and… And Dean had gotten distracted, gotten slow, and almost gotten his head ripped off. He was tackled by the beast and pinned to the ground, the claws digging into his chest and shoulders. The three heads divided themselves rather efficiently, two going for the arms and the central one went right for his face and neck.

Dad had gotten it, shot it dead. Then left Dean to get out from under the corpse himself and promptly followed up by reading the riot act to him while they cleaned up the corpses and burned them. It continued from the den to the walk through the forest to the car to the ride back to the motel.

"I thought you were old enough to start hunting on your own, Dean," Dad had said, spitting Dean's own words from last year right back at him, "I've seen you with better reflexes when you were a teenager!"

Dean had just taken it. He'd just shut up, save for the occasional 'yes/no sir'. He hadn't tried to defend his competence as a hunter, hadn't given a single excuse. Mostly because he knew that if he dared open his mouth, dared to try and speak up for himself, he'd more than likely spit something out about Cassie. Then, he knew, he would never _ever_ hear the end of it.

The Winchester family rule that was never to ever be broken: 'We do what we do and we shut up about it'. If Dad found out Dean had blabbed to some chick _and_ was nearly getting killed because he couldn't get said chick out of his head? Any independence dad had begrudgingly let him gain through the interference of aging would be revoked. Probably forever.

So, Dean had settled on it. He had to get Cassie out of his head. Somehow. _Any _how.

The lonely road stretched out before the lonely caravan of him and his car with lovesick rock music playing wasn't particularly helping.

At the end of the journey, however, Dean was sure he would get what he needed.

--

The condos were just outside the urban area. No doubt she wanted to be discreet, Dean assumed. That would be her way.

He parked and checked the smeared black ink on the napkin from the bar where he'd gotten the address and number from a third party. He'd been told he would be expected.

Dean got out of the Impala and headed to the right door number.

---

He'd been told beforehand to ring the bell. Normally, he'd knock directly on the door, but the third party had warned him that she _hated_ that. So, he rang the bell-once, as he was again instructed to prior to arriving-and waited, rocking on the balls of his feet.

It took up to the point of him being dearly tempted to ring the bell again when the door finally opened.

He found himself looking down at a petite brunette woman in a dark red bathrobe with her hair done up in a sloppy bun. He blinked for a moment, suddenly feeling more than slightly awkward. Her glaring wasn't exactly helping.

"I thought I was-"

"You are," she stated matter of factly, "Come in."

She left him in the doorway, walking through the living room and disappearing down a hallway to the right.

Dean walked in, closing the door behind him, casing the joint. Just in case.

"Jacob didn't give me your name," she said from the other room.

"Didn't he?" Dean brushed off, checking out the living room. Normal off-white couch, polished wood coffee table with coasters neatly stacked to the left. Dean almost chuckled to himself. Could it scream 'set up' any louder?

"So are you going to actually give me a name or is this going to be anonymous?"

Dean turned towards the adjacent hallway as she reentered. "It's Dean."

The woman came around the doorway, quite different than before. What had apparently been beneath the bathrobe were black panties, bra, negligee, and little else save for a pair of black leather gloves. Her dark brown hair was out of the bun, let down. It was actually kind of long. Dean wondered to himself what kind of shampoo she used. He'd love to have that kind of bounce.

"Dean," she said, trying out the name like a wine. "I'm Julia."

Dean gave a slight nod, biting his tongue behind his lips. "Julia… That's…nice."

She smiled, walking casually across the room. "So. Why don't we take care of business first?" She flicked off the living room light, leaving only lamplight on. Once again, discretion.

"Sure, why not?" Dean agreed amicably. He dug into his jeans' back pocket and took out his wallet. "Price?"

"Depends," Julia said, "How many times do you want to go?"

"Tell you what," Dean offered, "I'll give it the old college try and see how I feel after that?"

Julia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's a hundred."  
Dean's eyes went immediately from his wallet to her. "Hundred…half-dollars? Quarters?"

If looks could kill, Dean would've ended up in a meat grinder. He gave a weak grin.

"One round, One _hundred_ dollars," Julia gritted out.

Dean fumbled with the bills in his wallet, stalling. "Uh…there some bonus charges you're not mentioning or extracurricular activities…?"

Julia, impatient, snatched his wallet, took out a fifty, two twenties, and a ten. She handed it back with a sardonic smile.

Dean took it back begrudgingly. "There'd better be a chocolate on my pillow when this is over."

--

Julia led Dean into her back room, and the atmosphere of the apartment had totally warped. An ornate canopy bed with sheer blood red curtains and scarlet sheets was in the left center of the room. Small shelves of candles and incense sticks dotted the wall. The windows were curtained with a sunset orange shades. A cinnamony smell filled Dean's nostrils. Light was dim here, soft.

"Get comfortable," Julia advised, gesturing lazily to the bed.

She walked over to a cherry-wood vanity with various items scattered on it while Dean wearily eyed the bed as he took off his heavy denim jacket, leaving his Doors t-shirt on. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What if something went wrong? He shook his head. Pussy. What the hell could go wrong?

"Take off your shirt," Julia ordered without turning to look at him, fixing instead on his reflection in the vanity mirror.

Dean glanced at her back. Okay, this was half turning him on, half creeping him out. Huh. Good combination.

So, he obliged, pulling the shirt over his head. The movements jostled some of his injuries from the cerberus incident of a few days ago. He gritted his teeth to it and tossed the shirt to the floor, letting his skin and scabs breathe fresh air.

As he had expected, Julia was giving him a once over, her dark eyes examining him closely. Hardly anything new for a stud like him, a chick checking out the hardware. Still, this particular Julia, the way she watched him and her whole demeanor… Her eyes looking at him like that was sort of violating. Yet sexy.

"Got a lot of scars," she remarked, like it was a compliment.

"I like to live dangerously," Dean proclaimed with a smile.

Julia's eyes moved to his fresher wounds: the cuts on his neck, the scabs on his shoulders, the bruises, well, _everywhere_. "Those hurt?" Her tone said she was asking more out of curiosity than concern.

"No," Dean answered without really thinking about it.

Julia gave an eerie smirk. "They will," she promised. She turned back to the vanity and gestured wordlessly to the bed again.

Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at Julia's statement. Still, he got on the bed. He wasn't turning chicken shit now, no way. Lying back on the bed, he folded his arms behind his head and crossed his legs. The pillows were soft and very comfy.

Julia glanced at him over her shoulder as she struck a match. She raised an eyebrow. "Not going to take off your shoes?"

"Nah. Feel good like this."

Julia considered him for a moment. "Want to make this quick?"

"Just like being prepared," Dean replied coolly.

"Fair enough," she allowed.

Julia started lighting candles and incense. The cinnamon smell mixed with oranges and lavender. Dean tried to relax. This was good. This was okay. …Right?

Julia turned a small CD player on. The opening bass of 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails started to pump through the room. Dean raised an eyebrow to himself. Least she had good taste in music. That helped, he supposed. He also surmised that the music was to cover up any noise, if but to keep the neighbors in the dark.

"How long has it been?" Julia asked as she lit an incense stick, her voice casual and level.

Dean nearly choked. "What?"

"How long. Has it. Been?" Julia stretched out, her voice still as casual as if she were asking about a baseball game.

Dean shifted nervously. "Is that really-?"

"Yes." Julia stated the answer quickly, turning to face him. Her expression was very serious. "It is."

Dean hesitated. "Uh… A while."

Julia's eyes narrowed. "_How long_, Dean?"

Dean sighed, drumming his hands on the bed. It was suddenly a little too warm in here. He mumbled his answer.

_You let me violate you_

Julia blew out the match in a huff. "All right, that's it. Get out."

_You let me desecrate you._

"Nine months! Nine months, okay?" Dean yelled, irritated and a little embarrassed.

_You let me penetrate you._

Julia was quiet a moment, letting the outburst seep into the atmosphere and dissolve. Dean tried to ease back onto the soft pillows. The voice of Trent Reznor was all that filled the void.

_You let me complicate you._

"Okay," Julia finally said quietly, "Nine months." She went back to lighting candles, her previous grace of movement becoming a little stiff. "What was the last one for? Special occasion or-"

"That's none of your damn business," Dean snapped angrily.

Julia nodded in understanding. "All right." She turned her back on him, lighting another candle. "Maybe you should get some help," she said with a smirk, "This isn't exactly healthy activity to just get over some chick."

"Yeah, hey, here's a neat-o idea. How about you just shut up and put out, Julia," Dean growled. "I'm not paying you to talk. I wanted that, I would've seen a shrink. I came _here_."

Julia's smirk remained. If anything, she seemed pleased that he'd lost his temper a little. "Yeah. Enough talk." Her eyes flashed a bright red for a moment.

She walked to the end of the bed, leaning on one of the bed posts with her whole figure laid out for him. Dean lay there, taking her in. Damn, but demons had skill in the 'hottie' department.

"You ready?" Her face was resolute, but she was smiling.

"Yeah," Dean breathed. He grinned a little too. He was ready. It was time to get this over with. "Bring it."

She climbed onto the bed, moving up his jean-covered legs to his waist until she was straddling him.

And despite himself, even now Dean remembered this as the position he and Cassie favored.

"First," Julia said, rocking back on her own legs, more or less sitting on him. "We need a safe word."

Dean frowned up at her. "Safe word?"

"Yeah, because if you black out," she shrugged, "I might not be able to stop."

"And that would be…?"

She glared solemnly down at him. "_Bad_."

"Okay." Dean paused thoughtfully. "And the 'safe word' is…?"

"I like 'strawberries'," Julia offered.

Dean's brow furrowed. "How 'bout 'Sabbath'?"

Julia's lips curled distastefully. "How 'bout 'strawberries'?" she asserted, imitating his tone with icy malice.

"Uh… That works too…"

Julia gave a sickly sweet smile. "I thought so."

With that, her gloved hands came down and slowly, soothingly roved over his bare torso and arms, massaging the toned muscles of a trained hunter. The injuries on Dean's body were suddenly relieved of any pain under her touch. Her fingers played on his flesh like a musician on their prized instrument. Dean let the slightest moan tumble out of his lips. Sweet Jesus…

"Just getting you loosened up," Julia explained in a breathy voice.

"Sounds good…" Dean managed to get out.

Finally, her hands settled near his ribs. Then, one by one, she teasingly pulled the gloves off with her teeth.

_I wanna feel you from the inside_

"Okay. Let's get started." She held her hands in the air, just above Dean's chest. "Ready?" Her eyes glowed red.

Dean nodded. "Do it."

_You bring me closer to God_

At his command, Julia took a deep breath and slammed her hands down onto Dean's chest, directly over his heart. Immediately, a fiery orange glow erupted from her hands, plunging into him. Dean tensed and gritted his teeth. Pain filled his entire being. She'd been right; the cerberus injuries _did _hurt, hurt like hell. All of his battle wounds, the old scars, seemed to have reopened like they were happening all over again.

But it wasn't altogether physical; mental and emotional anguish boiled within him as well. The night Mom had died, the struggle to be a good son to Dad, the wide rift between him and Sam, they all assaulted him in a chaotic, confusing avalanche. It all came and went, came and went, like waves on a beach.

"Stay with me," Julia ordered, her eyes, from iris to whites, totally red and glowing.

In and out, in and out. But every time it felt better when it left and far worse when it came back. The pace was like a heart beat.

Unfortunately, this was only the warm-up.

"Here we go," Julia said, more just to keep Dean alert and a chance to prepare himself.

Then it was all her. All of Cassie. Her face, her hair, her perfume, her voice, her laugh, her body, her scent, her clothes, her skin, her sex. They flooded his senses and mind all at once. All the feelings he had for her; distress, fear love, shame, happiness…

In and out, in and out. Better and worse, better and worse.

"_Fuck_," Dean snarled out between closed teeth. Shit, his eyes were burning along with the rest of him. No. He was not going to shed a single fucking tear. No goddamn way. Not in front of this bitch of himself.

Julia was completely gone now. She sat totally still on top of Dean, her eyes scarlet and staring at nothing.

As the session continued on, the intensity would climax and immediately dissipate. Here and gone, here and gone. Everything about Cassie would fill Dean and it was as though a movie of her was coming to life right within him… And then she would fade out, full bright color to dull sienna, to black and white. Fade… Fade…

Gone.

"Strawberries!" Dean yelled to grab Julia's attention, "Strawberriesstrawberriesstrawberries!"

Julia blinked, here eyes human again, and quickly removed her hands from him. She nearly leapt off of him, rolling next to him on the bed, all the while being careful to not touch his bare flesh. Both were gasping in air, panting heavily.

"You know," Julia said, after they'd both recovered a little but were still weak, "You really shouldn't do that more than once a year…" She looked over at him. "You'll end up killing yourself."

"I'm fine," Dean muttered.

"No, you're not," Julia retorted, but she let the matter drop.

"What'd you do to me?" Dean asked, gingerly putting a hand over the place she'd entered him. Over his heart. "That wasn't like the other time."

"Who'd you go to last time?"

"Girl named Alice," he replied, "Near Memphis."

Julia gave a nod. "Whatever. Probably in experienced, didn't know what she was doing. I gave you some metaphysical novacaine. Dulled the pain." She eyed him. "But you won't forget, if that's what you're looking for. You'll remember her, but be able to function. Do whatever it is you and your old man do."

"Okay." He could deal with that.

Julia studied him for a moment, her expression mischievous, as she pulled her gloves back on. "You wanna test it out maybe?" A gloved hand traced lazy circles along his naked chest.

Dean looked from her trespassing hand to her eyes.

"You are kind of cute, Dean," she whispered, letting her hair brush against his neck. Dean's spine tingled.

"'Kind of'?" Dean quoted, slightly incredulous.

Julia grinned. "Kind of very cute."

Her gloved fingers played with the waistband of his jeans. She licked her lips and her eyes flashed red for a moment in the candlelight.

"I can make things quite enjoyable, I'm sure you've heard," she tempted.

"Yeah. I have heard that about empath…" Dean paused before dropping the other word and he grabbed the hand messing with his belt buckle. "_Demons_."

Julia only smiled. "You wanna lecture me on the wickedness of my ways?" she breathed into his ear, pressing her negligee-clad body against his, letting him sense the curves of her body.

She leaned over him and kissed him on the lips. A thrill of ecstasy-_imposed_, not self produced, flared up in Dean before he pulled away. Julia frowned in confusion, but all came clear as Dean rolled out from under her and swung his legs over the bed, pulling his T-shirt back on.

"Sorry Jules," he said, "But I'm not all that into the hellfire and brimstone." Julia gawked at him from the bed. Dean just flashed her a winning grin as he pulled his jacket back on. "Sulfur, ya know? Just stinks to high heaven."

Julia's eyes flashed viciously, almost animalistic. "Dean," she said, sitting up grabbing his wrist. The gesture was seemingly playful, but her tone had an undercurrent of wrath. "I'm not the type of girl who likes being turned down."

Dean cast her off with the flick of his arm. He sneered at her. "You're no girl."

His eyes carried a glint of hatred as Julia fell back. She was seething, the room starting to heat up. The distasteful smell of sulfur invaded Dean's nostrils.

He turned his back on her. "If things don't work out, I'll be back for a full refund," he promised as he let himself out.

Julia glared at his back as he left. _Hell hath no fury…_ she thought to her self with a spiteful smirk. Still, her anger couldn't totally mask her shock, her embarrassment. She was an empath; a merchant of pain and pleasure. And this boy from Kansas had had the nerve to deny her?

The front door opened and slammed shut. Soon the purr of a V8 454 engine and the squeal of tires followed. Some old hard rock could be heard floating up from the lot. He was gone.

"Asshole," Julia growled to herself.

END


End file.
